Credo's Fire: Alex Wolfe Mysteries, #3

By Alison Naomi Holt

   Alexandra Wolfe has been trying to stay out of trouble. Honest! But with budget cuts being what they are, Alex and Casey find themselves putting on a uniform twice a month to help out the officers on the street. The ladies are right in the middle of rescuing an errant emu when their sergeant, Kate Brannigan tells them to meet her at the Rillito Race Track.

   There's been a fire in one of the barns and a body has been discovered buried in a shallow grave. The tricky part comes when Alex discovers that the barn belongs to her Mafiosa friend, Gianina Angelino.

   Tightrope walking is one of Alex's specialties and when she begins digging deeper into the cause of the fire and Gia's activities, well, let's just say her balancing act is about to be tested to the limit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denabi Publishing
• Release date: Feb 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781386338031

Alison Naomi Holt

“Words are such uncertain things; they so often sound well but mean the opposite of what one thinks they do.” ― Agatha Christie, Partners in Crime Alison, who grew up listening to her mother reading her the most wonderful books full of adventure, heroes, ducks, and dogs, promotes reading wherever she goes and believes literacy is the key to changing the world for the better. In her writing, she follows Heinlein’s Rules, the first rule being You Must Write. To that end, she writes in several genres simply because she enjoys the great variety of characters and settings her over-active fantasy life creates. There’s nothing better for her than when a character looks over their shoulder, crooks a finger for her to follow, and heads off on an adventure. From medieval castles to a horse farm in Virginia to the police beat in Tucson, Arizona, her characters live exciting lives, and she’s happy enough to follow them around and report on what she sees. Alison's previous life as a cop gave her a bizarre sense of humor, a realistic look at life, and an insatiable desire to live life to the fullest. She loves all horses & hounds and some humans…  To find out more, go to her website at www.alisonholtbooks.com.          

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Istared into deep pools of velvet brown surrounded by the longest, lushest eyelashes I’d ever seen. She held my gaze, beckoning me to cross that line. I stepped back a pace. You know emus are mean, right?

My partner, Casey, nodded, Yup.

I mean, not mean all the time, just mean like when you try to stuff ‘em into the back of a van or something. The emu continued to stare at me, not an ounce of fear crossing her round, inquisitive face. I looked back at the growing ranks of patrol officers who’d come to watch us capture this six-foot escapee from someone’s backyard. C’mon, one of you guys give us a hand. These things are strong.

Every one of them, to a man, shuffled their feet and backed up a fraction of an inch.

Marlin? Look, you’re six foot, she’s six foot. What could be so hard?

Marlin’s a buff, handsome African American cop who’d never backed down from a fight—until now. Sorry, Alex. I saw an ostrich tear a man apart with its feet on the Animal Channel, and I’m not goin’ near that thing. They said their legs are some of the strongest of any animals and that those toes can rip metal wire fences.

I walked over to where he was standing and reached up to put my arm across his shoulders. Well, you see, that’s just the thing. This is an emu, not an ostrich. There’s a big difference.

Marlin carefully peeled my arm from around his shoulders and headed for his car. No way, Alex. I'm gettin' while the gettin's good. See you around. I watched his departing back, then turned to glare at the others who either looked at the ground or just grinned.

The van from the local humane society pulled up just as I walked back to where Casey stood stroking the emu’s head across a short chain link fence. The fence enclosed our complainant’s small backyard, which held plastic lawn chairs, a portable barbeque grill, and, incredibly, a wandering emu.

I looked over my shoulder at the van and sighed. My first impression of the driver did nothing to assuage my fear that Casey and I were on our own on this one.

A little man slid out of the driver’s side, and when his feet finally hit the ground, the top of his Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap came to about the middle of the side view mirror. He walked over and held out his hand to Casey, who shook it casually. She and I both looked to the passenger door hoping that someone around six foot five with huge biceps would emerge to help us out.

Casey raised her eyebrows. Please tell me you didn’t come alone. This is gonna take more than just the three of us.

The driver, apparently named Pete, judging by the letters stenciled above the right pocket of his shirt, raised his hands and backed away. Three of us? Oh no, I’m just the van driver. I don’t do animals. My boss said the cops had an escaped emu they needed brought to the facility, so here’s the van. His head swiveled between Casey and me. You load it. I drive it. Any more ‘n that, and you guys are on your own.

Casey fingered the embroidery on a bright yellow pillowcase the anxious homeowner had lent us to put over the animal’s head to keep it calm. I reached up and scratched my forehead, I’m gonna kill whichever commander decided detectives need to work two days a month in uniform.

It’s all part of the job description, Alex. Budget cuts and all that. Patrol needs help. We’re it.

I swept my arm back toward the ever-growing crowd of police officers. Yeah? Then why can’t patrol help us?

The van driver opened the rear doors and moved a few items to make room for the emu. He grabbed a rope and handed it to me. Here, you’re gonna need to tie her legs together, so she doesn’t kill you with those claws.

With one last glance back at the onlookers, who now included a cameraman from the local media, Casey and I pushed open the little gate and entered the fenced backyard. The emu took a few steps toward us, curiously studying our hands as if looking for a treat. There was no fear—on the part of the emu, anyway.

I hesitantly stroked one of the wings while Casey spoke soothingly to the bird, worried more about the emu’s feelings, I’m sure, than about the damage it could do to us. Easy, girl, you’ll be all right. We’re not gonna hurt you. She moved slowly until she stood next to the big body, which came up to about the middle of Casey’s chest. Okay, Alex. I’ll take the head, you sweep her legs out from under her, and we’ll go from there. Let’s try to do it slowly to keep her from panicking.

A glance down at the clawed, three-toed feet made me hope my life insurance was up-to-date. Jesus. I took a shaky breath and bent over, slowly circling my arms around stout legs that resembled thick, solid branches. Okay, slowly, on three. One, two, three! I tightened my grip on her legs at the same time Casey tried to slip the pillowcase over her head. Just as I’d expected, the pillowcase went flying, and so did I. With one flick of just one enormous leg, she’d sent me sprawling while Casey was left holding the neck of a very pissed-off bird.

With the emu bucking like a bronco and Casey hanging on for dear life, I lunged for the legs making sure to lead with my body instead of my face and head. A huge claw whipped forward and raked the inside of my thigh, tearing my uniform pants from crotch to knee. I managed to get my arms around both legs and lifted enough of her off the ground so Casey could gently direct the head and body sideways to the ground. The emu raked me again with her claws, luckily, this time only catching the side of my boots instead of my leg.

Casey called out a warning. Grab the legs down low, Alex! You can’t let her rake you like that!

No shit, Einstein! Look what she did to my leg! Blood dripped from a long, luckily shallow gash on the inside of my thigh. My heart rate felt like it had tripled, and my words came out more of a snarl than the jovial wisecrack I’d intended. All three of us were laying on the ground by this time, the emu still trying to free a leg and flailing her head, wanting to tear a hunk out of Casey’s face.

The van driver collected the pillowcase from the low-hanging branch of the tree where it had landed and threw it at Casey, who managed to catch it with one hand while still controlling the bird’s head with the other.

I slid further down the legs, pinning one foot between my knees and the other between my arm and my body. Even holding her like that, she was still jerking me around as though I were a ragdoll.

Suddenly, all movement stopped, and I looked up to see Casey holding closed the opening of the pillowcase that was now covering the emu's head. I frantically looked around for the rope to tie the legs. It lay about two feet away, curled around my butt print where I’d landed on my first attempt at doing it slowly to keep her from panicking.

As I lay there considering my options, our friend Jack Dougherty came running over. He must have driven up during my fly like a butterfly, try not to pee imitation. Shit, how come nobody’s helping you guys? You’re crazy doing this with just the two of you. Jack grabbed the rope and helped me pin the legs together so we could bind them.

Both Casey and I were too winded to give Jack any kind of explanation, and once the legs were secure, we lay in the dirt, trying to catch our breath.

Finally, Casey nodded toward the van. Okay, now all we need to do is get her in there.

I studied the height of the floor on the van while gently stroking the body of the big bird. Well, she’s about 140 pounds, most of it in the middle. You still need to control the head, and I have to keep the legs and feet under control.

Jack called over to the quickly thinning group of officers who’d been hooting and hollering at our impromptu rodeo just a few minutes earlier. I need two of you losers over here, now!

Two of the newer officers hustled over.

Jack moved behind the bird and squatted down. Help us get her into the van. As soon as we lifted, the emu began bucking again. Casey ended up inside the van with the emu’s head flailing in her lap, and I ended up on top of the bird with my legs clamped around its thighs. Before we knew what was happening, Jack slammed the rear doors shut and yelled at the driver. Get ‘em to the compound, and I’ll pick ‘em up from there.

Once the doors closed and the outside noise subsided, the emu quieted, and I rested my head on her feathery body. Shit.

Casey reached over and ruffled my hair. Look at the bright side, Alex. We’re gonna be on the five o’clock news looking like idiots. What more can a person ask for?

I reached up and pulled a small feather off my tongue. Did she get you?

She stuck a finger deep into a hole in her dark blue uniform shirt. When she pulled it out, blood covered the tip of her finger. Just a little bit. She motioned to my leg with a flip of her chin. I like your new air conditioning. Is the cut very deep?

Nope, but the pants are shot, thanks to our lady here.

The news cameras were waiting for us when we pulled into the back lot of the Humane Society. Jack opened the rear doors of the van and helped us carefully prop our girl up on her two bound feet. I untied the rope expecting her to try to kick me again, but she just stood there. We kept the hood over her head and kind of steered her to the awaiting pen. Once inside, Casey carefully removed the hood, and we both stood back, ready for anything.

She waited a second, slowly taking in her surroundings, and then she began checking out the trees and grass in her new enclosure. Our Emu, it seemed, had more curiosity than anger programmed into her pretty little head, and when Casey approached to give her a parting, no offense pat, the emu reached down and gently pecked at the badge pinned to her uniform shirt. Casey turned to me with that look I know only too well. Translated, it meant, I want to take her home.

I laughed. What, to go with your five goats, four pigs, three donkeys, and two horses, now you need an emu in a pear tree?

She stroked the long neck. Well, if the owner doesn’t show up and they can’t find a home for her, I’ll take her. We walked from the enclosure to where Jack waited for us in his patrol car. I searched the lot for the media, but apparently, a cooperative Emu hadn’t been an interesting conclusion to their story.

As we neared his patrol car, Casey and I both sped up, racing each other for the shotgun position since neither of us wanted to sit in the back where drunk prisoners threw up or left a load of lice or fleas. I reached the door handle first, but Casey shoved me toward the rear of the car. She quickly pulled open the door, stopping short when she saw Jack’s gear bag securely strapped into the passenger seat.

Jack sat in the driver’s seat and leaned towards her, stretching his lanky chest over the center computer console. Hey, you mind sitting in the back? I have all my stuff here, and it’d be a hassle to have to move everything twice.

Casey made a face and stared into the back window.

Jack laughed. Don’t worry, I power-washed it this morning. The back seats in our patrol cars are made of molded, hard plastic, and when things get filthy, a good power cleaning at the local carwash does wonders.

We gingerly climbed in, pulling the doors shut after us. I immediately felt claustrophobic with the steel grid partition in front of my face, and no door handles on the doors. God, I hate riding back here.

Jack glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove us back to our car. I know, no fun. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, has either of you been to the E.R. lately?

Normally, Casey and I end up at the emergency room at least once a week, interviewing victims or suspects in one of our cases. We’ve been partners in the Special Crimes unit for a little over a year, investigating kidnappings, home invasions, cold cases, and basically any offbeat crime the department felt needed special handling. We both shook our heads as I thought back to the past couple of weeks. No, we’ve mostly been working on a cold case from back in the eighties, a fifty-year-old weight lifter who disappeared without a trace. Why do you ask?

He rubbed the back of his head, and I watched a light shade of red start at his collar and slowly creep up his neck to his hairline. I dunno, no reason. He reached down to turn up the volume on his police radio.

Normally, it was hard to shut Jack up. He loved to talk about his kids and their sports or how well his wife was doing in the art world, so it was really unusual for him to stop talking without someone jabbing him in the ribs to remind him to let someone else get a word in edgewise. I prodded him a little. So, what’s goin’ on at the E.R.?

His hesitation spoke volumes, and Casey and I exchanged looks. Like a dummy, I unbuckled my seatbelt and slid forward to get a better look at his face. Not two seconds later, a black Chihuahua ran in front of our car. Jack slammed on the brakes, and I ended up with my face plastered against the metal partition. Casey quickly unbuckled her seatbelt and turned around to sit with her knees on the seat, worriedly staring out the back window to see if we’d hit the dog. When she saw him run back the way he came, she let out a sigh. I thought we got him. If these stupid people can’t keep their pets off the streets, they shouldn’t own ‘em.

I peeled myself off the screen. I’m fine, thanks for asking.

Seatbelts are a wonderful thing, Alex. Jack smiled as he pulled up next to our vehicles and came around to open our doors. I quickly jumped out of our portable prison, wiping myself off wherever my pants had touched the seat.

Not one to be deterred by a face plant, I cornered Jack before he could slide back into his seat. Jack, what’s wrong at the E.R.? Is something going on with Maddie or Marcos?

Maddie was our slightly overweight—okay, our generously padded friend who currently wore her hair in a modified rainbow Mohawk and who regularly changed her animal-sculpted nose rings to please her ever-changing animal within, whatever that meant. She and Marcos, our hunky, crossdressing Adonis, were both nurses in the Emergency Room, and if something was going on with them, I wanted to know about it.

Jack reached up to scratch his head, then nervously crossed his arms over his chest. Well, it’s just that…. His face returned to that unusual shade of red I’d noticed earlier, and I waited patiently, knowing he’d eventually spit out what was bothering him. Look, I’m not gay or anything, so I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about what I’m saying, but, well, I don’t think everything’s okay with Marcos. I don’t mean I’m watching him or anything…. I mean, I’m not interested in him or…. shit, I shouldn’t have even brought it up.

I rolled my eyes. C’mon, Jack, you can still care about a gay guy without being gay yourself. He’s our friend. Period. End of story, and if something’s wrong, we need to help him.

Casey was leaning against the trunk of the car listening. He seemed okay about two weeks ago. Terri and I ran into him at the Fourth Avenue Street Fair. What makes you think there’s a problem?

You just need to stop by and take a look at him, that’s all. I can’t explain it. It’s just an impression I’ve gotten the last couple of times I’ve been to the E.R. He doesn’t look or act like the nutcase I’m used to seeing. I thought maybe you two could figure out what’s going on.

I felt a breeze blowing through the hole in my pants, so I reached down to close the flap. No problem. We can go by after a quick stop at the station so I can get a new pair of pants.

Jack laughed. Good thing she didn’t reach a little higher, or you’d be on your way to see Marcos right now with blood pouring out of your femoral artery. I’m gonna ream some ass in debriefing tonight. Those assholes should’ve jumped in and helped.

Casey shook her head. No, don’t say anything on our account. With too many people clustered around her, she might have gotten hurt. We could’ve used one more person, but it wasn’t a big deal.

Jack shrugged as he slipped into the driver’s seat. Okay, well, take care, ladies. I’ll see you at the next call.

We watched him back out of the driveway, then got into our patrol car and drove to the station to change. When we walked into the locker room, we ran into our Sergeant, Kate Brannigan, who had just changed out of her uniform. She looked down at the gaping hole in my pants, flicked a glance at the tear in Casey’s shirt, then nodded. Well, I don’t need to ask as I’m sure I’m going to see it on the six o’clock news.

She pulled open the door and paused before stepping into the hallway. In fact, you might want to watch the national news tonight since I just got a call from one of my network connections asking for your names and work assignments. She caught and held my eyes for a moment, lowering her chin and raising her eyebrows in her typical Is there anything I should know about? look.

I raised innocent eyebrows and shrugged, which elicited a sigh and a resigned shake of her head. She turned to Casey, Anyway, you two need to change into your regular work clothes. There was a fire out at the Rillito Racetrack this morning, and Rick Longoria just called asking us to take the scene. He and his squad are at some advanced arson training in Michigan, so Casey, you’re going to take the lead, and Alex, you’re going to help her.

I held the door for her. Okay, but I don’t know much about arson, boss. That’s pretty technical stuff.

Kate nodded. I know. I mentioned that to Rick, and he said the fire department investigators will handle the actual arson. You’re only interviewing potential witnesses and racetrack employees. He said if you come up with anything of interest, he or Martin will follow up on it when they get back.

I let the door close behind her and walked over to where Casey had already begun the tedious process of removing her gun belt, patrol boots, Kevlar vest, uniform pants, and shirt. I did the same, then started the whole operation in reverse after first shaking out my tan Dockers to get out most of the wrinkles and pulling on my white Polo Shirt. I threaded my belt through the loops in the pancake-style holster I used for plain clothes work, transferred my Glock from my uniform holster into it, took my badge from the breast of my uniform shirt, and hooked it onto the badge holder I wore on my belt. The whole process was second nature, and while I didn’t really think about what I was doing, it still took a fair amount of time to complete.

Casey finished tying her shoes, threw her torn uniform in her locker and headed for the door. I’ll meet you up the office. I have a few phone calls to make before we head out.

As she opened the door to leave, my friend Ruthanne walked in. Hi Case, how’s that new goat? He seemed pretty feisty.

I turned to stare at Casey, who’d promised me she’d stop rescuing every wayward animal that came her way. What new goat? You got a new goat? Casey—

Ruthanne grimaced as she realized her mistake. Uh oh.

Casey disappeared through the door, and I glared at Ruthanne. You took another homeless goat out to her place again, didn’t you?

Ruthanne shrugged. She’s just fostering it for me until I can find it a permanent home. I didn’t have anywhere else I could take him, and his asshole owner’s gonna be rotting in prison for a long, long time. Her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail which swished back and forth as she punctuated her words with a not-so-convincing shake of her head.

So? You’re a cop, not a zoo keeper.

Well, the pound was on its way to pick him up since the asshole’s going to do thirty years in federal lockup, and the goat kinda found its way into the back of my car, and I kinda left before Animal Control got there. She shoved her hands into her pockets.

You know she can hardly afford to feed the ones she already has.

She’s fostering it…

Bullshit. You and I both know that once it’s at her house she can’t let go. You gotta stop doing this shit, Ruthanne.

Well, I can’t bring any more of ‘em to my house... She looked up with a calculating expression. …unless I started bringing them to you?

Forget it. Goats, pigs, horses, camels, and any ungulate for that matter are specifically forbidden in my neighborhood. Specifically, so don’t even think about it. I threw the rest of my uniform stuff into my locker and slammed it shut.

Crossing her arms, Ruthanne chuckled as I pulled open the locker room door. Ungulate?

I grinned as I walked out, I’ll ungulate you if you don’t stop foisting your rescues off on my partner. As the door closed on her laughter, I pushed the button for the elevator, which is directly across the short hallway from the women’s locker room. The locker rooms are in the basement of the main police station, along with several detective units, which are housed to the left as I faced the elevator. To the right is a set of double doors leading to the large cavernous bay where most of the SWAT equipment is kept.

When the elevator doors opened, Captain Buelow stepped out, his lip curling into a sneer when he saw me standing there. Buelow is a pear-shaped man whose sunken chest and rounded shoulders top a bulbous bottom that should have been impossible to stuff into our tailored uniform pants. But here he was in all his cellulitical splendor, his pants zipper bulging at the seams… no thanks to his, I’m sure, very tiny manhood.

There was no love lost between us—in fact, our relationship could be described as adversarial at its best and fetid at its worst—so I silently stepped onto the elevator and turned to press the button for the second floor. When I looked up, I caught the malevolent glare Buelow threw over his shoulder as he walked away. I matched him stare for stare until the elevator doors closed, feeling the rancor that twisted my gut every time I saw the man.

I stepped into the office, and Sharon, our secretary, called out a cheery hello as I pulled down the arm on her M&M man and retrieved the piece of candy that had rolled out onto his little tray. I returned her greeting, popped the chocolate into my mouth and headed back to where Casey and I had our desks. Our office held three different detective units in one big bullpen setting. An aisle split the office into two sides. Child Abuse is on the left, the Special Crimes Unit on the right, and Domestic Violence is buried in the back opposite the lieutenant’s office. The sergeant’s cubicles are in a glassed-in area on the front, left side of the room. Our desk space shares a common wall with the Lt.’s office and the entire North side of the room is made up of a lower three-foot wall with massive plate glass windows on top looking out over the lovely fire department parking lot.

Casey had the phone up to her ear, and as she saw me approach, she turned away so I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Shrugging, I pulled open my desk drawer and took out my digital recorder, a camera and an extra couple of pens which I tossed into my canvas briefcase before zipping the top and placing the whole bag onto the center of my desk.

I waited a few minutes, staring at the back of Casey’s head while she finished her conversation. After a few minutes, I reached over my desk and tapped the top of

Reviews for Credo's Fire

[Rosemary J. Stanek · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A very absorbing plot populated with very interesting, fully realized characters.